Memory is a desert which we populate with the imaginaryIn the landscape of my memory, one can see snow-covered fields and mountains, a small figure of a boy skiing along the shore of a frozen lake, and the traces of his skis in the snow. Following those traces, I travel into the past, restoring my ideal universe in which childhood is a time of spiritual depth and endless dazzling white snow. The vast sky above is like a window into childhood on which frosty patterns live, the northern lights glow, and huge stars fall. Snow is the time, the white imaginary landscape in which I settle my personal memories. It is there, at that hardly visible line of the snowy horizon, that the earthly and the transcendent spheres meet.